


Deanna

by justlovetowrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, F/M, First-person Dean's Point of View, Genderbending, M/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4159845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlovetowrite/pseuds/justlovetowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the devastating episode "The Prisoner" but before "Brother's Keeper," Sam and Cas are forced to make the dangerous choice of trusting Rowena to rid Dean of the mark, but Rowena has her own plan for Dean and takes advantage of their desperation in order to set her plan in motion. <br/>Dean, chained to his bed murderous and madder than hell, wakes up to find that a lot has changed, including his sex. Who knew that a sex change and an unplanned pregnancy could change everything?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Better Than the Alternative

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Inspired by Eric Kripke's story, "Supernatural" because he's the genius behind the plot and the characters and all credit goes to him and everyone who continues to work on the amazing CW show. I haven't found many stories that deal with a gender-bent Dean, but the ones I have found inspired me to write my own. So thank you for coming by. Please leave a review, and above all enjoy!

I tried to kill my best friend. I beat on him and beat on him and beat on him until he was a crumpled mess of blood and broken bones on the floor of the bunker.

_Next time, I won’t miss_

I would’ve left the bunker if my brother hadn’t arrived, bounding down the stairs only to stop on the last one and look at me, really look at me. I was so pissed at him that I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. He lied. It was his fault Charlie was killed—because of that stupid Book of the Damned! Because he couldn’t let go. I rushed him. I threw a punch that connected with his jaw, heard him grunt in pain, and when he opened his eyes, I punched him again. With anger and something else, something I thought I would never feel for my brother—white hot hatred—I grabbed him and pinned him to the floor.

What happened next is a blur. I wake up in a dark room, my room, splayed out on my bed with the worst headache. I can feel something warm and wet and sticky behind my hair—blood. I try to wrench myself up but am pulled right back down by something thick and metal around my wrists and ankles—chains. I can’t move. Those sons of bitches put me here, imprisoned me like a monster. My door opens and a shadow blocks the light from the hallway. I know it’s him, though. Sam is so much taller, so much bigger.

“Hello Dean,” Cas greets, his voice so unlike the voice I’m used to; it is shorn, wet and full to brimming with regret.

“What the hell did you do?” I growl, struggling against the chains. “What did you do, Cas!” He steps in, steps right to the foot of my bed, and gazes down at me. The beating I gave him isn’t yet fully healed. His eyes are a combination of black and purple bruises. His cheeks are cut and still bleeding, his bottom lip bulges. He looks like death warmed over.

“We did what we had to,” he says, “What was necessary.”

His answer is bull shit, prompting me to thrash and scream enraged by him and my brother. “I’ll kill you both,” I hiss at him, and I mean it. I hate both of them. They are the problem not the solution. I have a mission to cleanse this world of problems. “Where is he, huh? Where is that son of a bitch?” Cas walks closer to me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I want to grab him, slam his head into the nearest wall, maybe squeeze it until it explodes all over the room.

“Dean,” he chokes.

“Get away from me,” I order, straining against the chains. “Seriously, I don’t want to see your face or Sam’s face—ever, you hear me? And if I do so help me god . . .”

“I won’t give up, Dean. Sam suggested that I leave because it’s too dangerous to be here, but I said no. I said I won’t leave you and I will stick by that promise.” He slides his hand along my jaw to cup my cheek. “We’re working on something. It’s dangerous and it’s risky, but we don’t have any other choice now. The mark is devouring you. Soon there will be no Dean Winchester left, so yes, we are working with the witch Rowena, and yes we are using the Book of the Damned, but Sam knows that if the situation were reversed, you’d do the same.”

I thrash again, trying to throw his hand off me. It’s too warm, too soft. It’s radiating kindness and compassion and . . . “Get . Off . Me!” “We need you to come back, Dean,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “I need you to come back . . .” He lowers over me, and frames my face in both hands. “Come back.”

“Don’t,” I grit out. “I swear to God, Cas.”

“Come back,” he repeats. He closes the gap, bringing his mouth down on mine. It is firm and warm and more than I can take, because I can feel the mark burning my skin in a desperate attempt to reject this. He caresses my cheeks and cards his fingers through my hair and slides his hand down my arm to clutch the mark at the crook. The mark burns hotter, prompting a grunt of pain to erupt out of me, disrupting the kiss.

I speak again and my voice comes out tangled, desperate. “Cas?”

“Hold on,” he breathes, rising to press his hands on my chest. “Just hold on, Dean.”

I remember what he said to me before I attacked him. I remember it and it echoes all through me.

_Sam and everyone you know, everyone you love could be long dead. Everyone except me._

“Think of this darkness as Purgatory,” Cas murmurs, smoothing the pad of his index finger over my eyebrow. “I’m not leaving here without you just as you would not leave that place without me.”

“You didn’t want to come back with me,” I remind him. “You fought me.”

I feel him slide down next to me. “I suppose we are more alike than either of us chooses to believe,” he says. I open my burning eyes on his and have to blink rapidly to what I see there. “Cas?” I want to tell him how dangerous this is for him. I want to warn him away, remind him of earlier that night when he lay bleeding and I hovered over him with his archangel blade gripped tight in my fingers. But when I open my mouth, the words that come aren’t what I’ve planned. “I’m scared.”

“I know, Dean.”

“I just wanted to do the right thing—for once, but I just keep making choices that threaten everyone and everything I care about, thinking I’m in the right because the ends have to justify the means.” Cas strokes my cheek, his compassion overwhelming me and the burning mark. “I don’t deserve . . .”

“Dean, stop,” Cas interrupts me. I glare at him, angry and frustrated, but mostly confused. “Why do you love me?” Cas’ expression softens considerably and now I’m even more confused. “What?” I grit out.

He smiles. “I was expecting you to say something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know—anything but that.”

“You think I was oblivious or something?”

“You’ve come a long way, Dean Winchester.”

“I’m a demon, Cas; if anything, I’m fucked up worse than I was before you yanked my ass from the pit.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’ve learned that, of all the changes I’ve seen in you, one thing never will—your willingness to do good. You will always be the righteous man. You will always do everything in your power to save the world even if that means giving up any chance to be a part of it.”

“The mark . . . it hates you,” I gasp, “and you being here—it’s dangerous. Sam’s right, Cas, you have to go.”

“We’re going to remove it,” he promises, stroking my hair.

“What if you can’t?”

“Then we will find another way to save you.”

My chest is aching. “What if you can’t—save me?”

“Dean . . .” The chains rattle as I turn my body as best I can to look right at him. “You still have the archangel blade on you,” I remind him, gesturing to his coat. “Use it now, Cas.”

“No,” he growls.

“Do it!” The anger is returning, the mark burning worse than before, threatening to set us both on fire.

“No!” Cas refuses.

“If you kill me now you don’t have to stick around while I murder the world.”

Cas is shaking with this burden, but when he speaks, his voice is composed and immovable. “It’s better than the alternative.” With that, he leaves, blinks away from me and out of the room. I scream and bite my bottom lip so damn hard it bleeds. My struggle against the chains starts to wane and a strange dizziness hits me like a brick to the face. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stay awake any longer. They’ve done it. I’m gone.

Thank god it’s finally over.


	2. Changes

“Dean?”

I wake with a jolt. I’m unsure how long I’ve been asleep only that my head feels heavy, like bowling ball heavy, and my eyes are scratchy and sore. I’m not chained anymore and I sit up. What the hell happened? “Sam?” I call. I cough and clear my throat. My voice is several octaves higher than normal. I brush the hair out of my eyes and sit up straighter, switching the lamp on from behind me. “Sammy?” The door opens, and standing there on the threshold is my brother, his mouth gaping, his eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them and man, we’ve seen everything.

“How are you feeling?” He manages, stepping forward.

“Like I’ve slept for a century,” I reply, scrubbing at the back of my head which is now itchy.

“A week,” Sam corrects, approaching me to sit and press me back down to the pillows. I figure the only reason he’s stronger than me right now is because I’m still tired—exhausted actually. He purses his lips and grabs the ends of the blanket to pull it up to my chin. “The spell was-- kind of intense.”

“What spell? What are you talking about, huh?” I ask groggily.

“We found a spell that would rid you of the mark, Dean, but it was risky and it required dark magic. With no other moves to play, we had no choice but to do it and deal with the consequences later.”

I stare up at him. “It worked?”

“Look at your arm,” he suggests with a weak and tired smile. Something tells me the spell’s effects weren’t just on me.

I pull my arm free of the blanket to stare at it. “Oh my god,” I gasp, staring harder in case I’m deliberately missing it. Then I feel the crook of my arm just to be sure. “Oh my god,” I exhale again, louder, gazing at him. “Holy shit, Sammy!”

“Dean?”

But I’m already forcing myself upright, and pulling him into the tightest hug I can muster. “You did it, man.” I pull him back from me. He doesn’t look as happy as he should look right now. “We should celebrate! How about a drive to Vegas, huh? Craps, Blackjack, the whole nine!”

He laughs but it sounds more like the laugh of someone in pain, like the time he smashed his funny bone, getting out of the car.

“This fight isn’t over,” he tells me honestly. “Far from it.”

“What are you talking about, man? I’m cured!”

“It was a spell, Dean, the only one in our arsenal, the only one that wouldn’t rip you apart limb from limb.”

“Are you being cryptic on purpose or are you gonna get to the friggin point already?”

Man, I must stink after sleeping in the same clothes for a whole week. I need to change. I shuck off my shirt and jeans and get out of the bed to grab something out of the closet. When I turn around, Sam is not facing me; he is facing the door with his hands over his face. “What the hell are you doing,” I laugh at him. “It’s like you’ve never seen me naked before.”

“Dean, Rowena warned there’d be side effects. I just figured she meant . . . something a little less . . . physical.”

“Physical,” I regard the word by turning it around in my head, “Like a third eye at the back of my head . . .” that would explain how itchy it is, “or a third nipple, cause that’s not the worst thing in the world.” I start doing up my shirt. “It’s my voice, right? It sounds higher than normal, like I sucked in a load of helium.” Sam clears his throat. “Listen . . . Dean, we made a deal with Rowena. In the deal, we accepted any and all changes as long as the mark was eliminated for good.”

He isn’t finished speaking, but I’m finished listening, because my shirt is too sizes too big. “That bitch shrunk me!”

Sam swallows hard, prompting me to look up at him for answers. All my happiness over losing the mark suddenly and rapidly fades. “Dean, we are sorry and we will put you right, okay?”

“Wait,” I stop him, shaking my head. “Put me right? I am right. I’m me,” I argue, “I’m still . . .” But Sam is shaking his head. What the hell does he mean by that? Of course I’m still me. I scramble out of the bed and leave him there to enter the bathroom, staring at my face in the full-length mirror next to the shower. Holy shit! This can’t be happening! It can’t be happening! The shirt is unbuttoned just enough for me to see two mounds of flesh that should not be there. I grab the shirt and pull it closed. I’m staring at my face, but it’s not my face. This is a fucking side-effect? How is this a side-effect? I glare at the woman in the mirror, the stranger with blazing green-gold eyes and blond hair cut short around her ears, and a heart-shaped face, and curves noticeable even beneath the flannel button-down. She’s smaller than me, way smaller, and thinner and . . . softer. I touch her face. No facial hair, no hardened jawline, no Adam’s apple.

“I’m gonna throw up,” I choke, stumbling away from the mirror to sink to the floor right next to the toilet. I don’t hear the door open. I don’t hear anything except the sound of my blood pumping through my veins and my heart thundering dangerously in my ears. It’s only when I lift my head that I jump when I see him standing there in the doorway. “Jesus, Cas! You mind knocking?” I snap at him.

“Dean?”

“Not anymore,” I retort, drawing my knees to my chest and burying my face in them.

“The mark?” he says.

Without lifting my head, I stick my arm out for him to see. I guess seeing isn’t believing, because next thing I know he’s on the floor with me, pressing his fingers to the spot where the mark used to be. “We did what we deemed necessary to cure you,” he justifies.

I exhale. “By turning me into someone else?”

“You are not someone else, Dean,” Cas argues gently.

“Tell that to the chick in the mirror,” I snap at him.

“She said there would be side-effects,” he explains, stepping closer to me.

Sam told me. He said you guys agreed to everything, all of it. But you ever wonder why that bitch's spell made me into this? You ever think maybe this is exactly what Rowena wanted?”

Cas places a hand on my shoulder and I sag too exhausted to even brush it off. “It doesn’t matter; all that matters is the mark is gone.”

“ _I’m_ gone,” I fire at him angrily, “How long are these side-effects supposed to last, huh? Am I stuck like this forever?”

Cas presses his hands to my face, but I can’t take the warmth right now, so I push him away, grunting, “Don’t.”

“Dean . . .”

“Am I?” I snap at him, “Look at me, man! Who the hell even am I now? What has that witch bitch done to me, huh? What's her endgame?"

"I don't know, but I do know that you are still Dean Winchester,” Cas argues, glaring determinedly at me, “Nothing has changed inside. Your soul remains the same. You are still the same.”

“I don’t feel the same, Cas. I feel trapped in a body that doesn’t belong to me.”

He shifts closer and grabs my arms, startling a gasp out of me. “We will fix this,” he promises me. “I will fix this and put you back to the way you were. This is not a permanent cure, this is only a temporary solution until we can find the cure.”

“I want to help,” I manage, wincing to the sound of my voice—too high, too wispy, too fucking female. I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to find wherever that son of a bitch Metatron is hiding and order any and all answers from him, regarding the mark.”

“I thought he didn’t know anything,” I comment.

“He’s the scribe, Dean, he took down everything God ever told him. He knows something.”

I groan heavily. “I need a drink.”

“I’ve learned to brew coffee,” Cas offers, getting to his feet.

“Alcohol,” I clarify, “Lots and lots of alcohol.”

“I suppose that’s a good idea.”

I straighten though I’m still wobbling on legs made of jelly. “So uh . . . what exactly do I wear now that I’m—you know—this?”

“That is Sam’s domain more than it is mine,” Cas says, grabbing my shoulder and squeezing. “We will ask him.”

I follow him out in only my flannel shirt to find Sam perched at the foot of my bed, staring blankly at the door. He is holding two bags in his hands.

“Sam,” Cas starts, stepping ahead of me to approach Sam, “Dean is unsure of what to wear now that he is . . .”

“I’ve got this,” Sam says, getting up abruptly from my bed and dumping both bags onto it. I am now staring at a variety of different women's clothes and I suddenly realize how much easier it was as a guy-- just a t-shirt and jeans and I'm good to go. But this? I'm looking at tank tops and t-shirts and skirts and dresses and jeans and pants and skirts and . . . oh god . . . are those bras?

 

"I can't," I choke, looking away from the pile of clothes. 

"Dean, I know how much this has gotta suck . . ."

"Do you?" I snap at my brother, "Do you really? Because I don't think you do! I don't think you have a fucking clue how much this whole thing sucks!"

"You have to try and get acquainted with these changes, at least for now . . ."

“Are you kidding me with this?” I scoff at him. “These _changes_? You say that like I just got a new haircut or something. I’ve had a sex change against my friggin will, Sam! I’ve had a magical fucking sex change!”

Sam turns away from me to look right at Cas. "Stay with him, alright?"

"Where are you going?" I growl, grabbing his arm before he can fuck off on me. 

"I think you could use a couple bottles of something strong," he says, "I think, at this point, all three of us could use it."

Best suggestion he's had all day. "Good," I nod, confronting my new wardrobe with a challenging glare, “I’m getting drunk,” I say. “Really fucking drunk!” The door closes and now it's just me and Cas. "You mind?" I say without looking at him. "This is already hard enough without you watching like someone getting his peepshow on."

"I think leaving you alone right now is unwise," he tells me.

"Well, I have to have a shower, so  leaving is your only choice," I say, pushing past him to enter the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles. I hate this! Once in the shower with the hot spray on me, I cry harder than I have ever cried in my entire life. What happens now? How do we even track down that son of a bitch Metatron? And even if we do, how do we make him tell us what we need to know to eliminate the mark without fucking up everything? And what about the deal those two made with the king of Hell's bitch mother? What's her endgame here? Too many questions and no answers. I shut off the water, climb out of the shower and grab a towel to wrap around my body. It’s not even my body. It’s the body of someone else, someone smaller and shorter than me. How could this person possibly still be me?

I walk to my room, gripping the towel, and nudging the door open with my shoulder. "Jesus Cas!" I gasp. He's still there and I'm suddenly reminded of the time he waited at the side of the road for three days while I endured Zachariah's future bull shit.

"Hello Dean, how was your shower?" 

I turn to glare at him.  “Just go away, okay? I’m not in the mood for lectures or your head tilt or that squinty look you give me when you think I’ve done something stupid. I just can’t deal!” 

“I don’t give you any such look,” he says.

“Oh you do it,” I sulk, dropping down onto the bed, “You’re doing it right now!”

“Dean . . .”

“He says exhausted,” I narrate for him. “I always have to clean up your messes. You know you’re always making the worst decisions . . .”

“I’m not saying any of that,” he puts in, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You’re thinking it,” I say miserably.

“No I’m not.”

“You can,” I choke, “I’m thinking it.”

“I understand why you took on the mark, Dean. And yes, I’m worried about you, but I’m always worried about you. Worry comes with loving you.”

Oh yeah, and there’s that to fret over, too. He also kissed me before the spell was cast and I was made into—this. “I can’t deal with any of this bull shit right now,” I mutter.

Cas angles his body to face me. “I understand, Dean,” he says kindly, too kindly. Then he does something he’s never done before and takes off his coat to wrap around my naked shoulders. I pull it tighter around me surprised by how warm it is, but the warmth isn’t on the outside; it’s on the inside, pooling in my stomach. "Thanks," I mutter unable to look directly at him.

“I know I haven’t always been—trustworthy,” he starts.

“You’ve made bad decisions,” I tell him, “We all have. I’m a prime example of major screw-ups, but you know what? Worse comes to worse, you're there. Hell, you’re here now; after everything I've done-- you're still here."

"Of course, Dean." He presses a hand to my shoulder and squeezes gently. It feels good, too good.

I pull around to look at him. "Despite everything, we’re family. That’s what matters, right? We have been to Hell and back literally. Who can say that and actually mean it, huh?” 

“We’re family,” he repeats.

I smile, nudging his hand off me. “Now can you help me figure out this bra thing? I’m so fucking lost.”

He does help me, and yeah, it’s a little weird that he’s touching my naked skin, and my palms are all sweaty when he insists he’s done, but I just shrug and thank him like it had no real effect on me. “You uh . . . you put on a lot of bras before?” I ask, pulling a t-shirt over my head and sliding quickly into a pair of jeans that just seem a little too tight for my taste.

“I learned a few things as a human, Dean.”

“I don’t need the details,” I say before he can launch into a vast description.

He stands and we are almost at the same height. “Metatron is going to give us the information we need, and the minute he does, I’m going to drive my archangel blade right through his chest,” he promises.

“Then what, Cas, huh” I ask. “Do you have a plan for the aftermath?”

“Yes,” he grits his teeth and sets his jaw.

“What is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t have asked,” I tell him only mildly annoyed. He always knows exactly how to irk me.

“I’m giving up my grace.”

He also knows how to kick the air from my lungs. I cough. “What? Jesus Cas, no! You just got it back. Hell, you almost fizzled out on another angel’s grace and now you finally have yours back. You’re you again, all suited up and angelified.”

“I don’t want it,” he says, shrugging and heading for the door.

I follow him, pulling the door closed behind me.

“What do you want?” In retrospect, if I didn’t want to know the answer, I really shouldn’t have asked.

“You,” he says.

Heat floods my face and I grab him at the elbow, pulling him around to face me before he can descend the staircase. “Last time you were human, you hated it,” I remind him, “I’m not worth all that crap. If you’re going to be human again, don’t do it for me, understand? Do it because it’s what you want.”

“I enjoyed being human, Dean,” he says, “I only got my grace back because it was what needed to be done.”

“Don’t tell me that!” I groan, stepping back from him.

“I’m not telling you what you don’t already know. I did it for you, to help you, to save you. I do all of it for you. You know that! I’ve told you that countless times. It’s not going to change. I am not going to change.” I stare at him speechless, letting the silence eat away at the space between us.

“Look um . . .”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean,” he puts in before I can finish my awkward speech.

“Really? Because it feels like I do; otherwise this is gonna get awkward real fast.”He puts his hand out and I stare at it like it’s something strange and foreign. “What?” I mutter, looking up at him. “You wanna make this more awkward?”

“I’ve seen how people respond to hand-holding. It is actually quite positive.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the touchy feely type, so . . .” He steps closer and wraps his fingers lightly around mine. “We will wait to make sure you don’t burst into flames,” he says in a voice so deadpan I’m almost sure he’s being serious.

“Is that an angel thing?” I ask, staring down at our hands.

“That is a joke, Dean Winchester.”

I glare at him. “Not funny, Cas.”

 


	3. The Other Shoe

“You know I’m as screwed up as they come, right? You got a yen for that or something?” He holds my hand tighter, and I have to admit, I don’t hate it. It’s kind of awesome. It might even rank up there with driving my baby for the first time. I’m blushing. I can feel the burn behind my cheeks. I really like this whole hand-holding thing, but as the span of time lengthens, I am reminded just how small my hand is tucked inside his large one. Jesus, his hands are big. I’m not used to being small. I don’t want to get used to being small. I don’t want any reminders at all that I’m not the size I should be. I pull my hand from his and drag it through my hair. “We need to nip this,” I tell him, brushing past him to the stairs, “like now.”

I stammer to a stop in the doorway to the room where I shot and killed two people, one a child. I can still see his shocked face if I close my eyes. Just one more nightmare. It’s also the same room where I nearly killed Cas. Shit. My legs feel weak like I’m going to collapse if I don’t grab something stable. Cain’s voice rings in my head.

_Then you’d kill the angel, Castiel. Now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful._

“Dean . . .” Cas' voice is distant like he’s not here right next to me. I’ll never stop seeing his marked face and the blood pooling at the corner of his mouth as he lay there, staring up at me, pleading with me to . . . stop.

“Dean.” His voice is closer and I turn right around to stare at him. I know what I did. Losing the mark doesn’t change that. I can’t even look at him without drowning in guilt. He should hate me. Why doesn’t he hate me? Just one more nightmare, I remind myself. What’s one more nightmare?

I go straight to the kitchen to start pouring myself a full glass of whiskey. Then I grip it tight with one hand while I bow my head heavily over the sink and try to take deep cleansing breaths to stop the shaking. I straighten, put the tumbler to my lips and drink deep. The alcohol burns and I cough. Fuck no! This can’t be happening! Alcohol goes down smooth. I barely feel it usually, but not now. No, now, I’m a fucking girl who is clearly new to this. I force down another hard swallow. “I will kill that witch for doing this to me,” I growl, turning to see Cas standing there. “I mean it, man! She’s going down!”

“I’ll be honest with you, Dean,” he says, regret lacing his tone, “Our method was a lot more unorthodox than I planned, but you were so far gone that the thought of doing nothing, of just hoping that we might find the answer somewhere else was devastating to both me and your brother.” I take another brave gulp of my drink—and cough again. “Fuck,” I groan, forcing myself around to face him. He looks like he’s dying to tell me something. “What?” I finally ask, needing to break the unbearable silence. “Jesus, Cas, what? I’m female not terminal!” Cas nods and straightens. “I was just thinking about what you say in situations like this.”

I take a sip of my drink this time. At least my body can handle that. “Situations like . . .” I press him.

“Situations like the one we have gotten ourselves into with Rowena,” he clarifies.

“What do I usually say?”

Cas’ gaze falls on my face. “I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

I take my eyes from him to focus on my drink. “It was stupid of both of you to trust that bitch.”

“I know.”

“I get it, though, okay?” I swirl the amber liquid around the bottom of the tumbler. “I know why you did it, and you were right to. Seriously, were the situation reversed, I would rather work with an untrustworthy witch than kill my own brother.”

Cas presses his hand over mine and I look at him. “The other shoe will drop, we just don’t know when or how. That’s why I’ll do everything to fix this as fast as possible.”

I look down at our hands. “And if you find the cure, will I be able to get back to normal?” Cas gets to his feet. “Yes.”

I manage a smile. “Let me help. The more people on this the better, right?”

“I will accept your help to find Metatron, but afterward, I can’t have you anywhere near him.”

I laugh out loud. “What? Are you kidding me? This is my fight more than it is yours or Sam’s. I took on the mark. I became the demon. I fucked up.”

“It’s for your own protection, Dean.”

I put my glass down hard. “We’re not doing this, understand? I’m still Dean. I’m just missing some—equipment—but it doesn’t change who I am. You said that. You said I’m still me, and as me, I’m going to help you find and torture that son of a bitch scribe until he starts bleeding answers, understand me?”

Cas gets to his feet. “I am not questioning your bravery, Dean, nor your skills as a hunter, but Metatron killed you once already. I can’t . . .”

I cut him off. “This is not your call, Cas. It’s not anyone’s call but mine!”

“I see he’s still as stubborn as ever—or should I say ‘she’.”

I round on the intruder and relax considerably. “Crowley,” I exhale.

Cas bounds forward making sure to put himself between Crowley and me. “How did you get in here?” He snarls angrily.

“I’m the king of hell, Cassie. I’ve got skills the likes even you haven’t seen.”

“Don’t be crude with me!”

“Guys!” I shout, staring from one to the other. “Fight later, would you? Cas, if Crowley knows something . . .”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “He is not a part of this.”

“He is Rowena’s son,” I remind him. “He’s a witch and he’s the king of Hell. If anyone can torture the information we need out of Metatron, it’s him.”

Cas scowls. “I don’t trust him, Dean!”

“I do,” I storm. I look to Crowley and nod.

“I can trust you, can’t I?”

“Of course, Squirrel.”

“Don’t call him that,” Cas attacks him.

“Her,” Crowley corrects, looking right at me. “And she’s fine with it, Castiel. It’s our thing. We have a lot of things, so you are going to have to cope with that.”

“Stop,” I order him with a warning scowl. “You two need to get over yourselves right the hell now, understand? I need your A-game here!”

“You have it,” Cas says, pressing his hand to my shoulder. “You always have it.”

“What about Moose?” Crowley asks, taking the open bottle of whiskey off the counter to gulp down freely.

“What about him?” I shrug. “He’ll work with you if it means getting his hands on the angel that killed me.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Cas knew too. Guess you didn’t because they didn’t want you to think they were capable of being more monstrous than you.”

“Just tell me, Crowley,” I demand now. “I’m not in the mood for your cryptic crap.”

Crowley glares at Cas before straightening and taking another swig of the whiskey.

“Sammy struck a deal with my mother; she would solve your little demon problem in exchange for killing me.”

“No,” I shake my head, “Sam wouldn’t . . .”

“He would do anything to save you, Dean,” Crowley says angrily, but he isn’t angry at me. He is angry at Sam. “Unfortunately, I recently learned that . . . I would too.”

“I need some air,” Cas mutters, escaping the room in a flutter of wings.

“You’re not making any goddamn sense,” I snap at Crowley, “And with everything the way it is right now and a fucking shoe about to drop because of your mother, I’m not interested in an explanation that will take longer than thirty seconds. So what the hell are you talking about?”

Crowley cuts to the chase. “Your brother lured me into a trap by using you as bait.”

I shake my head. “Bait?”

“I thought you were in trouble.”

I stare at him as though these words are suddenly foreign to me. “What the hell?”

“Your oh so honest brother convinced me you were in trouble so I came running.” He crosses his arms, “Okay? Make sense?”

“No,” I shout almost laughing to this lunacy. “You hate me! You call me Squirrel . . .”

“It’s a pet name,” he interrupts.

“Not the point!”

“What’s your point then?”

I drag my fingers across my face. “Hell if I know.” I lift my head to stare at him. “Why would you . . .” I shake my head. “Don’t answer that. Just don’t. I can’t handle the drama right now. I just need you to be on board with this.”

“Killing Metatron,” he puts in.

“Torturing answers out of Metatron then killing him,” I correct him.

“I’m on board with that,” he says.

“Because you want to kill Metatron?” I pursue.

“Half-yes, half-no.”

I can feel the frustration building. “Since when are you sentimental about anything,” I argue with him. “Seriously! You’re Crowley! If you wanted to, you could take me out right now. We both know that without the mark I’ve got nothing on you. God knows I’ve given you more than enough of a reason to go ape shit on my ass.”

He shrugs. “We have a history.”

“We have a couple of bar fights and threesomes, dude. I was a demon. All I wanted to do was party and fuck around. We weren’t sharing our feelings or anything.”

“I know that,” Crowley barks at me. “Does it look like I’m proposing? I was still influenced by—humanity—or did you forget what your brother did to me?”

“It’s over now, though, right?” I press. “You’re not . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug at him, “You coming to my rescue is not exactly normal behavior for the king of hell.”

“Won’t happen again,” he says, striding past me to the stairs.

“After this,” I add.

“Mom’s still in solitary, yeah? I should pay that little shrew a visit.”

“Crowley!” I shout after him.

He doesn’t answer me and I don’t bother calling him again. I’m so sick of this. I’m sick of all of this. I march out of the kitchen to find that Sam has just returned, carrying two paper bags in his arms. I refuse to tell him that I can’t chug it down like I used to.

“What the hell was Crowley doing here?” He asks, heading straight for the table in the control room.

“Forget it,” I say, deciding to change the subject until I can figure out a time to bring it up again. “What did you get?” I ask, peeking into one of the bags.

“Something strong,” he says. “We’re in for one hell of a night, Dean.”

“Finally, some good news.”

I sit as he cracks open the first bottle. “You uh . . . you look good in your new . . .”

“Shut up,” I cut in before he can finish, “Just drink. This right here is a moment I want to spend not dwelling on—well—everything.”

Sam nods his understanding, and we get drunk. It actually doesn’t take too long, and for that entire night I forget that I’m—not me—and that this whole situation isn’t completely fucked up. Cas is a no-show until I stumble over the threshold into my room just in time to hear him fly in.

“If you’re here to kill my buzz, don’t. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You’re drunk.”

I laugh—hard, and nod as I collapse into the pile of clothes on my bed. “I am so drunk,” I agree in a muffle. “Sam and I played a game of pool and got wasted. Best . Night . Ever!”

“Dean . . .”

“What?” I still have my face buried in the pile of clothes, and I’m still laughing.

“I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly . . .”

I wave my hand in the air and grunt in dismissal. “It’s fine, Cas. I know you don’t like Crowley. Hell, none of us actually like him, right? He’s the king of Hell!” I pull myself upright on the bed, brushing a pair of lacy panties off my face. “You kissed me,” I blurt then I cup my hands around my mouth and whisper. “You shouldn’t do stuff like that or Sam will get jealous.”

“You are very drunk.”

I giggle and poke him in the chest. “I didn’t drink a liquor store.” Then I laugh and poke him harder. “Ha! Burn baby!”

He grabs my hand, clasping it between both of his. “You need to sleep, Dean.”

“Your hands are really big,” I muse, blinking up at him. “Like really big.” I start laughing again.

“You need to sleep, Dean,” Cas says again, firmer this time.

“I don’t need to sleep,” I argue, “I need to find a karaoke bar and sing my ass off!” I scramble forward. “You ever done that, Cas—huh? You ever sing at a karaoke bar?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well you have to!” I grab his arms in what feels like a tight grip. “It’s so . . . what’s the word . . . freeing!” I stand and sway a little to the side. He catches me. “I’m a good singer. I mean like seriously—awesome! Ask anyone!” “Dean . . .” “If you suck, we’ll improvise,” I tell him.

“We’re not going to a karaoke bar, Dean,” he says. “You are very drunk and you need to sleep.”

“You aren’t the boss of . . .” He put three fingers to my forehead and I'm gone-- out-- just like that. No warning. No nothing. That son of a bitch knocked me out!

I jolt out of a deep sleep to shouting coming from downstairs. By the voices alone, I know it’s Sam, Crowley, and Cas. I climb out of the bed, struggle into a pair of jeans and a tank top (no bra because I’m not fighting with one of those right now), and race downstairs to attempt to play mediator. I should be hungover, but the probable reason I’m not is now holding Sam back by both arms.

“No,” Sam shouts, struggling in Cas’ angel grip. “Cas, let go!”

“I want to kill him too, Sam, but we need him!”

“You’re lucky you’re still alive, Moose,” Crowley hisses. “If I had been smart, I would’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Why didn’t you?” I feel his eyes on me before I can turn to fully acknowledge him there.

“You threaten my brother again and I will kill you,” I promise him, but the warning sounds a little too hollow to my ears. That's disturbing.

Cas lets Sam go, and his eyes finding mine. I can see the disapproval there. I can see something else too but I choose to ignore it.

“I’ll use a location spell to track down Metatron,” Crowley suggests, “Mother’s invention of sorts.”

“Whatever gets us there,” I say, looking at him.

“Why the hell is he here?” Sam hisses, approaching me in long strides. “We can’t trust him! You of all people know that! You were a demon because of him, because he lured you into taking on the mark!”

“Sam, we can’t be picky with our allies right now . . .”

“He is not an ally, Dean! He's the king of Hell, he's a monster plain and simple!”

“What about the deal you struck with mommy dearest, huh?” I bring up, knowing it had to be brought up eventually. “Did you really use me as bait to trap him?”

Sam flushes scarlet. “Your voice,” he corrects me, “I used your voice to trap him. I struck the deal for you! To save you!”

I step back from him to glare at all three in turn. What is wrong with all of them? “I am not a prize,” I announce loudly. “So for the love of god, stop making stupid decisions in order to save my ass! I’m done with this bull shit, hear me? Once we put things right, I’m leaving! I’m done with all this! I’m going to travel to some isolated island and become a goddamn hermit!”

“Dean . . .”

“No,” I snap at Sam.

“I’m done!” I walk over to Crowley. “How’s the spell coming?” He looks at me.

“I need blood.”

“Of course you do,” I sigh, putting my hand out. He takes my hand, but the touch is gentle, too gentle. I can’t take it, so I yank my hand back, snatch the knife off the table and slice across my palm, squeezing several drops of blood into the center of his oddly shaped pentagram. “Not delicate,” I say gruffly, handing the knife back to him. I leave the room, shouting over my shoulder. “Call me when it’s done!”

“Dean!” I ignore Sam’s shout and head for the shooting range.

I might no longer want to kill living things, but man am I desperate to shoot something. I pick up the baretta I had left there from the last time I needed to let off some steam, and holding it out firmly in one hand, arm extended, I pull the trigger. The sound explodes through me, disrupting my equilibrium and knocking me to the hard floor.

“Dean?” Cas touches my arms then takes me at the hips to guide me to my feet. I am quick to free myself and round on him.

“You said I’m still me,” I say, “but if I really am me then why the hell can’t I shoot a goddamn gun? Huh?”

“I won’t go into the physics of it, but due to your physical change, certain adjustments have to be made.”

“What kind of adjustments?” I groan. “Until you’re used to it, you will use two hands to hold your gun.”

“Jesus, Cas, really?” He scoops up my gun from the floor to press in both my hands. He then turns me around and helps me aim by keeping my arms steady. I pull the trigger once, twice, three times. I hit the chest of my target every single time.

“Better?” he asks me. I give him a look over my shoulder. “Yeah, but in real-life killing situations, we can’t be—attached at the hip.”

“We won’t be. I just—I enjoy this.” He grins.

“I never had one, you know,” I admit, putting the gun down, “A best friend. I was never around long enough to make one. People were kind of—intimidated by me. Guess it makes sense, huh? I carried weapons everywhere I went. I didn’t trust anyone. Most I could do was mess around with the girls before I was off and running with my dad to the next town.”

He nods. “So, are you really going to move to an island away from us?”

I pick up the gun again. “Doubt it. Moving to an island requires flying. We all know how awesome I am at that.”

Cas chuckles against my ear. “I could take you. No flying necessary. At least none you’ll feel.”

I turn to face him, shaking my head.

“Who are you right now? I was sure I had you pegged and now you’re just—different.”

Cas smiles. “How am I different, Dean?”

“I don’t know . . .” I touch his tie absentmindedly, letting it slip through my fingers. “You could play the whole distant card if you wanted to. It’s not like I don’t deserve the silent treatment after . . . everything . . .”

“I know that wasn’t you,” he breathes.

“I was pissed at you, Cas. You went behind my back with the whole Book of the Damned thing. It was _my_ hand that grabbed your angel blade. I remember, okay? It’s something I’m not ever gonna forget.” Cas grabs the hand I have around his tie and holds it. “I know you’re looking for forgiveness, Dean, but I’m not forgiving you for something you had no control over.”

“You should’ve fought back,” I grit out.

“I knew you’d stop,” he whispers.

“I didn’t even know I’d stop.”

“That’s because you don’t have the kind of faith in yourself that I have in you. The mark is the killer, not you, and you were still in there no matter how angry you were with me and Sam.”

“I’m so sorry,” I exhale. “I am. You have to know that.”

“Dean, stop thinking about it.”

“How do I stop thinking about beating you to within an inch of your goddamn life, Cas, huh? How do I just . . . forget it and move on?”

Cas gives me a look that manages to give my lungs another good kick. I know that look. I’ve given hot women that look. Hell, he’s given me that look before, years ago, before he beat me to a bloody pulp for threatening to say yes to his brother Michael and I was locked in Bobby’s panic room.

_Last person who looked at me like that, I got laid._

“Oh Deanna!” Crowley. The look on Cas’ face confirms it.

“Cas, you and Sam need to set aside your differences with him—at least for now,” I tell him.

“Are you giving me permission to kill him when this is over?”

“No.”

“Give me permission to kill him when this is over,” he says.

I hold his shoulders. “Look, I know how it sounds, but we have a history. It might not be awesome, but it isn’t all bad, either. Can you understand that?”

“I don’t like the way you look at him,” he admits, frowning.

“Jesus Christ, really? Come on! I don’t look at him any different than I look at anyone else. You know that jealousy is beneath you, right?”

“Jealousy is not beneath anyone, especially me,” he says.

“Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen, understand?”

That’s a lie. Something did happen, but I’m most certainly not bringing it up, and we are definitely not discussing it. It’s done. It happened and it’s over.

“Dean! Are you coming or what?” Sam this time.

I release Cas to head for the door, but I can feel him behind me, and when I’m not paying attention, he catches my hand mid-swing and laces his fingers through mine. It feels good, and I need something that feels good right now. But it’s also Cas, my best friend—an angel who rebelled for me and my brother and jumped into the jaws of death for us too many times. He is also the Cas I nearly killed not even two weeks ago.

“Stop dwelling on it, Dean” Cas hisses in my ear.

I turn to glare at him. “I can’t exactly shut my brain off, Cas! It happened. It’s on me, and it’s something I have to live with now.”

“If you don’t forget it, I will make you forget it.” That look is back, that sensual temporary breath-stealing look—harder and fiercer than the last time. Clearly, I don’t know Cas as well as I once thought I did. “So you’re into the whole S and M thing, then?” I mutter, taking my eyes from his. “I beat the holy hell out of you and now you wanna get biblical?” I wish I hadn’t said anything, but I have a big fucking mouth and I get a high from challenging people. However, Cas’ retort is like a brick to the chest. “I’ve always wanted to-- get biblical—with you, Dean.”

What? Jesus Christ! I’m biting my lip. I don’t do that! I stop abruptly just as we cross the threshold into the control room. It’s so damn silent I can actually hear the sound of my small shoes clicking on the hardwood; another reminder that I’m not—me. “Deanna,” Crowley oozes. He must have gotten back to his old self. I actually hope I verbally slapped some sense into him.

“Just Dean,” I tell him gruffly.

“Deanne might work,” Sam suggests.

I shoot a glare at him. “If you call me Deanne, I’ll punch you in the throat, understand?” He puts his hands up in a quiet surrender.

“Good. Squirrel’s back.” Better than Deanna or Deanne any day of the week, I decide with a nod, “Let’s get to it then, shall we?” Crowley looks in my direction then in Cas’ then down to our hands. If he had just turned away in that moment, I would have felt better. Hell, a sneer would have been better; anything to convince me he was still the demonic asshole who made cracks at me when bound in the dungeon before I died and became a demon. But no, the son of a bitch has to give me a look, however brief, that I can only interpret as jealousy. What . The . Fuck? I take my hand out of Cas’. I have to. This is all just too weird. And why isn’t Sam commenting? He saw it too. I didn’t even see him react. Crowley starts chanting in Latin. I know some of the words—open. Enter. Angel. Metatron (that was plain English). The floor shakes. I look at Sam who looks back at me, a note of apprehension in his eyes. Yeah, I know, Sammy. I don’t like this, either. The floor shakes again, harder, and the balance I think I have is thrown off. I hear the yelp of shock escape me, but I don’t place it as mine, at least not until an arm is around my waist and I’m being pulled upright.

“It’s going to take time,” Cas tells me.

“I hate this,” I mutter. “I can’t adjust to being a goddamn twig!”

“In coming!” Crowley shouts.

Something comes down in a bolt of light and strikes the floor so hard that even Cas is nearly thrown off his feet. He is holding me with both arms now, his chin at my shoulder.

Sam is gripping the edge of the table, his knees bent. Crowley has stepped back a ways. The figure that gave the bunker a righteous shake is now pulling himself upright in the painted circle. Sam marches forward, throwing down a lighted match. The circle erupts in flames now surrounding the familiar figure. “Oh come on,” the scribe whines, looking at each of us in turn. “Really? This is not how you have a civilized conversation.”

“Shut it, Metatron,” I snap at him. He turns his eyes on me, a grin pulling the corners of his mouth upward. “Wow,” he whistles low, “Look at you all dressed up like a queen and nowhere to go.”

“This is your fault!”

“I don’t think so,” he laughs, “It looks like the culprits here are your two very best friends in the world. I mean . . . how else were they going to tame the beast?”

I scream and try to pull myself out of Cas’ arms. “I’ll kill you you son of a bitch! Fix this! Fix this now!”

Metatron shrugs and pins his gaze to Cas. “I heard you two had a big blow out. Rumour has it he tried to kill you. Somehow, I knew you’d survive it, Castiel. Like I said before, this story is about love and heartbreak . . . and . . .” He looks at me for emphasis, “ _love_.”

“Like you know anything about love,” I fire at him.

“This coming from the only human who hates himself more than all the villains in the world do. Clearly you know more about love than I.”

“Stow the bull shit, Metatron. We need the cure to rid Dean of the curse for good, and even though you’re basically useless, we know you have information that will put us in the right direction. Now tell us what we need to know or we are all going to take our turns torturing it out of you.”

I like Sam in that moment and I give him a look that exposes my pride. He has always been a sensitive kid. It took him forever to actually shoot something living. I get it. It’s not like I’m heartless, I just don’t have his talent for the puppy dog stare. I’m more of the hard, course, forthright type. I can’t sit there holding someone’s hand and telling them that if they trust me everything is going to be alright. No, I tell it to them straight. I tell them what they need to hear. Trust me if you want to survive. I can, however, tell someone I’m going to torture the life out of them if they don’t tell me what I need to know. That is in me. That has always been in me. I found that out in Hell. It wasn’t awesome and I hate myself for it, but the fact remains that that kind of cruelty is in me. It isn’t in Sam. And yet, here he is putting the screws to Metadouche, and I couldn’t be prouder of him for it. “Tell us how to find the cure for the mark,” Sam orders again, his voice low and dangerous. “Now!”

Metatron crosses his arms and gives a short “hrumph” of boredom. “Really Sam? You’re going to torture me?”

“I’ll torture him,” Cas growls, releasing me to put himself directly between me and Metatron.

“But I want the little girl to do it,” Metatron quips, looking my way, “You are very pretty, Dean, do you know that?”

I want to hit him—hard. I want to smash his face until it doesn’t look like a face at all, but when I advance with my fists clenched, Cas grabs me, heaving me back. “Dean . . .”

“I can take him.”

“I’m sure you can,” Metatron continues to taunt. “And you will look so cute doing it too.”

“Fuck you!” I’m straining against Cas, but he is not budging an inch. “Cas, let go!”

“Dean, you have to calm down,” he says gently.

“Calm down?” I screech, “Look at me, Cas! He did this to me!”

“Again,” Metatron cuts in calmly, “I didn’t do it. Your buddies did, or should I say your wannabe boyfriend and your brother did it.”

“Maybe I can throw him in the pit for a turn,” Crowley interjects, stepping forward. “I don’t mind delivering a little torture before dinner time.”

“Yes,” I agree, glaring at Metatron, “You good with that, Metadouche, huh? A little roast in the pit should make you spill all your guts.”

“Squirrel should join me. We’ll make a night of it.”

I'm all for it. “Yes!”

“No,” Cas and Sam object together. Cas’ eyes are on me, his thousand-yard I know what’s best for you stare is on me.

“Listen to me, Dean, I know how much torturing this—son of a bitch—means to you, but I also know what you went through in Hell.”

I breathe in, staring at him. “It’s not the same thing, Cas,” I argue.

“It’s not the same circumstance, I agree, but it requires the same action, the one you swore off of.”

“Yeah, and then we got stuck in Purgatory, you fucked off on me, and because you didn’t bother to tell me where you were, I fell off the wagon, well, actually, I jumped off!”

Cas’ face falls a little to this, and I immediately feel guilty; besides, I know why he left. He told me.

“What are you, his mother?” Crowley snaps at Cas. “He wants to join me, he can join me.”

“Bite me, Crowley,” Cas snaps back.

“Hey,” Sam calls, whistling and pointing to the grinning scribe. “We need to put this asshole away somewhere, and I for one vote for the pit.”

“Good call, Sammy,” I say, sticking my thumb up at him.

“Cas, you on board?” Crowley asks him.

“Yes.” “Then it’s settled. Squirrel, let’s go.”

“Without Dean,” Sam puts in, “Cas is right. This is the wrong move, especially after what happened when Dean had the mark and he faced Metatron.”

I wave my hands in the air. “Hello! Right here! Let’s not discuss me in third person, huh?”

“He doesn’t have the mark, anymore,” Crowley argues, “And he’s one of the best in the art of torture, despite what all of you might think. If we want to break this angel, we need the best.”

“No,” Sam says louder and firmer. “I know you wanna be all buddy buddy with him again . . .”

“That is not what he wants,” Cas hisses through clenched teeth.

“I’m going,” I shout, still waving my hands. “Twig or not, I can cause some serious damage.”

“Dean, it’s not a good idea,” Sam says, concern in his eyes. Ugh! He’s doing the puppy dog thing. “Please just . . . let us handle this, alright?”

Crowley’s eyes land on me for a brief second. “Sorry, Squirrel. I tried. Maybe another time.” And with a snap of his fingers, he and Metatron are gone.


	4. Secret's Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is still processing the sudden and drastic change, not just of his appearance but also of his feelings for Cas; however, a secret threatens to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this. I'm hoping to catch up to the crazy that is my life right now. Thank you for reading. And for those of you waiting, you're awesome!

I leave them without a word and return to the shooting range. Putting the ear protection on, I pick the gun up off the ledge and hold it out the way I would if I wasn’t a ninety pound twig. It feels heavy. It feels uncomfortable. I bring my other hand to it in order to steady it and set my feet further apart. “Okay Dean, you’ve got this,” I tell myself, and with a cleansing breath in, I squeeze off five shots into the target’s chest. Then I squeeze off another shot into his head. 

A knock on the door interrupts my second round and I look around to see Sam dwarfing the doorway. He’s always been bigger than me, but holy shit, he’s a giant now. “What do you want?” I mutter, holding the gun steady again.

“We are trying to protect you, Dean. This isn’t a normal situation, and you, getting back into torturing after we just got rid of the mark . . .”

I squeeze off a shot and miss the target by inches. “So I’m still a monster, I’m just missing the tattoo,” I retort through gritted teeth. 

“That’s not what I said, Dean.”

I put the gun down and push the ear protection from my ears. “You do know we're screwed if we can't figure out how to stop whatever is about to go down because of this spell. I may not like the whole torturing thing, but I’m good at it, and we’ve got a shot at making Metatron spill if you let me take a crack at him.”

“If you torture Metatron, you will be reliving something you’ve been spending years trying to forget.”

“We’re out of options and you know that!”

“We’re not out of options, Dean. We have a plan.”

I shake my head at him. “What plan?”

“The plan is me,” speaks the gritty voice of Cas as he emerges behind Sam. “I’ll make him talk, I assure you.”

“You’re going to torture him,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. I’m still not used to having breasts, but there they are, bigger than they should be for a twig, and in my way. Fuck! “You’re going to torture Metatron?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“And you think you’ll be fine with that, huh? You’ll just come out of it all good?”

“I don’t think that, Dean, and there is a possibility I might kill him out of spite alone. It is going to take everything I have not to.”

I look down at my feet then look back up because they are too small. I am too fucking small. “What makes you think you won’t kill him?” I ask.

“There is only one thing that will prevent me from plunging my archangel blade straight through his heart,” Cas growls, stepping forward. “You.”

Then he’s gone and I’m left staring after him, wondering what the fuck he even means by that. 

“You need a drink,” Sam says, motioning for me to follow him out of the shooting range. “Come on. I have just the thing.”

***   
“You’re a good brother, Sammy,” I tell him from on the hood of my beloved impala, a burger in one hand, a beer in the other. Sam clinks the lip of his bottle to mine and grins. 

“So are we going to talk about the handholding or . . .”

“No,” I say right away. “We’re going to talk about how damn good this burger tastes right now next to this fucking fantastic beer.”

“Fine,” Sam sighs, “What’s it like?”

I look at him perplexed by the question. “What is what like?”

“Being . . . super tiny.”

I punch him hard in the shoulder. “Shut up. I’m not that tiny.”

“You’re fifty pounds soaking wet if that.”

I pull my foot up to lean on my knee. “It might be a good thing. I could use it, you know? I could use these.” I smirk, gesturing down to my breasts. “I’ve got swagger now.”

“Ahh,” Sam chuckles. “Guess it might help with hunts. You’ll be able to squeeze through the smaller windows.”

I chuck a pickle at him. “I can also play the crying girl card,” I tell him. “Get us out of difficult jams.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Dean, but you kind of . . . look like Mom.”

I stare at him, blinking rapidly. “Uh . . . huh?” It’s all I can utter, because seriously what?

“If your hair wasn’t so short, you could almost be the spitting image of her. It’s kind of weird looking at you.”

“Do you think I looked more like Dad when I was—you know—me?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I mean in some ways, yeah, but Mom had the freckles and the blond hair and the green eyes.”

“Are you calling me pretty?” I tease him.

“Mom was pretty.”

“I know.”

He laughs. “I guess I’m calling you pretty.”

“Well, you’re . . .” I nod, “A fucking giant, dude! What the fuck? Where did you get that from, anyway?”

Together we lean back against the windshield. The sky is black except for a full moon. Werewolves will be out tonight. “Do I look like Mom or Dad?” He asks me.

“A little of both,” I admit. “You have Dad’s eyes and his jawline, but you have Mom’s cheekbones and her hair.”

“Am I like him?”

We turn to look at each other. “Am I?”

“Not even close,” Sam says. “I mean you’ll always have his ‘take no shit’ attitude but you are—better.”

“You too,” I agree, crossing my arms, “But man, you are so smart and so determined, and that definitely came from Dad.”

“You’re smart too,” he says.

I blow a raspberry. “I’m mediocre. We both know it.”

“What’s going on with you and Cas?”

And just like that, our conversation stops and I sit upright, one arm encircling my knee. “Seriously, dude? Nothing!”

“You say that like there’s something.”

“I said nothing,” I growl.

“So it’s something.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? We were having a moment here, a good brotherly bonding moment, and now you gotta spoil it by bringing this bull shit up?”

Sam shrugs, a smile on his lips. “Do you like him?”

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow at him.

“It’s a fair question, Dean. Do you like Cas or not?”

“It’s a stupid question,” I mutter, taking a deep swig of my beer. “We're buddies, dude. We're family."

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” He eyes me pointedly

“Why are you doing this right now? I am going through a trauma here! I need your support!”

“I’m supporting you, man. I never not support you—and it is getting incredibly hard to call you man when you look so much like Mom.”

“Well don’t start calling me Mom or you will have a major problem on your hands,” I warn him.

“Can I call you Deanna?”

“No.”

“Deanne?”

“You call me either of those and you’ll have a broken nose.”

Sam laughs. “If Mom could see you . . .”

“She’d lose her shit,” I finish for him. 

I don’t know why, but it isn’t the worst compliment in the world to be compared in looks to Mom. Mom was beautiful. I guess if I was going to look like anyone, Mom would definitely be my number one choice as a female counterpart. “Mom would have called you Deanna, you know, after our grandmother,” Sam puts in. 

I nod. “What do you think is going to happen to me?” I ask him, taking a bigger gulp of my beer just to finish it off. “You think I’ll turn into a toad or something?”

“God, I hope not.” Sam chuckles and nudges me.

“I hope Cas gets some answers out of that douchebag downstairs. The pressure of not knowing is kind of getting to me.”

Sam makes a face and presses his beer between his knees. “I’ve gotta ask this . . .”

“If it’s about Cas, stop right now.”

“It’s not,” he insists, “It’s about Crowley. Does he seem . . . different to you?”

“I don’t know, does a little less douchebaggy count?”

Sam purses his lips and nods. “But I was thinking more like . . . strange . . . around you.”

I groan. “I don’t know, man. When I was a demon, we were close and he got a little . . . I guess the word is clingy. Maybe that’s why he’s all off kilter now.”

“You two never . . .”

“Fuck no!” I laugh, “No! None of that. It was just . . . buddy buddy stuff.” I look away from him. “A threesome or two but that’s it.”

“Oh my god, Dean!”

“I was a demon!” I defend loudly. “I wasn’t even myself. I was a fucked up version of myself.”

“I remember,” Sam nods. Oh yeah, he remembers, because in that state, I tried to kill him with an axe. Oops. “Does uh . . . Does Cas know about that?”

“What? The threesomes? Probably.”

“You told him?”

“I told you and that’s it. You and Crowley know.”

“So Cas doesn’t know.”

“Again, I was a demon so it doesn’t even matter, does it?”

Sam shrugs. “Are you worried it will?”

I’m not doing this. With everything that’s happened, I can’t talk about how Cas will react to learning about my threesomes with the king of Hell. I take my empty beer bottle and my empty burger wrapper and slide off the hood of the car. “Dean!” Sam calls after me.

“I need a shower, okay? That’s it. Thanks for the burger and the beer and the . . . talk.” I walk down to the door of the bunker and push my way inside. My footsteps are soft on the stairs leading into the control room and when I reach out to touch the railing, I take one look at my hand and wince. It’s so small, too small! I break into a run, needing to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me how damn small I am. I lock myself in the bathroom and stand before the mirror. I lean in closer. Sam’s right. I do look a lot like Mom. My freckles are way more prominent too. I don’t look even the slightest bit intimidating anymore. I go to the steam shower and work on adjusting the temperature to suit my needs, and I need it fucking hot! After washing every foreign part of my body, I stand with my forehead to the tile and just let go. I cry until my chest is aching and I can’t catch my breath. 

Then I bring it to an end and tell myself that Cas will find the answers we need and I will be back to my old male self in no time. 

I grab a towel, wind it around me, run my fingers through my wet hair and open the door. I don’t even cross the threshold though; instead I let out a yelp of shock and throw the door shut, falling hard against it. “Jesus, Cas! What the hell? Is this going to be a thing with you or what?”

“I apologize, Dean.”

“What do you want?” My heart is thundering so hard I can hear it in my ears and feel it in my face. 

“You’ve been crying.”

“Thanks for the update,” I snap at him, “Now can you go so I can get dressed in peace?”

“Of course.” 

I hear him take off, and when I know he’s gone, I escape the bathroom and run straight to my own room, throwing the door shut and landing into the pile of clothes on my bed. I grab a pair of boy shorts from the pile, pull them on with my eyes shut, and leap off the bed to approach my closet. I snatch one of my blue plaid flannel shirts off its hanger, pull it around me, and do it up right to the neck. I’m swimming in it. The sleeves fall well past my fingers and it hangs to just above my knees, but it’s mine and it smells like me and I miss me so bad it hurts to breathe. I climb up on my bed, and grab the photo of Mom and me off my nightstand. 

If I fall asleep maybe I’ll wake up and realize I’ve been dreaming this whole thing. Worst nightmare ever! I fall back on my pillows, clutching the photo and close my eyes. 

I hear a rustle of wings and sit upright just in time to see Cas emerge at the foot of my bed. “Just please tell me you got something out of that asshole downstairs?” I draw my knees to my chest and encircle them with both arms. “Come on, man, I need some good news right now.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Work faster,” I throw my arms out, “Look at this! My shirt is a fucking dress!”

Cas walks around my bed to sit on the very edge, facing me. “He’s talking, Dean."

"That's good," I gasp, brushing stray blond strands out of my eyes. Cas takes my hand, but I pull it from him. "That's good, isn't it?" I press him further. When he still says nothing, just continues to look at me with those sad pathetic big blue eyes, I grab his shoulders. "What, Cas! What? If the douche angel is talking . . ."

"He's talking in riddles," Cas cuts in softly. "I can't make sense of it."

I can feel the hope seeping out of me like air from a balloon. "Someone has to. What about Crowley?"

Just the king of Hell's name causes Cas' entire body to stiffen. "He's working on it."

"He's good with riddles," I say, nodding then stop, because being on the side of Crowley is causing Cas' jaw to tighten. This time, I take his hand, squeezing around his fingers reassuringly. "Let Crowley work on Metatron. You can stay here with Sam and me, help me figure out this whole gender-switching thing." Cas touches my cheek with his free hand, prompting my entire body to catapult backwards. "Easy on the touching, huh? I might look like a damsel in distress, but I ain't one, got it?"

“I still want to kill him, Dean. Crowley is the reason for all of this, and he doesn't deserve . . ." He looks at me and stops midsentence. "Regardless, I can’t do this without him. I know that.”

I give his hand one last squeeze and let it go. “Is there a chance you’ll be able to crack the metadouche code before Rowena has a chance to use this against us?”

“I don't know," he admits solemnly. "But whatever happens, Sam and I will fix it. Whatever happens," he emphasizes.

I nod and drag my fingers through my hair. At least it's short. That gives me some comfort at least. "I've never not trusted you, Cas," I tell him, "Even at your worst, I trusted you."

"What about Crowley," he asks, his eyes bright enough to laser straight through to my soul. 

"He's Crowley," I say, shrugging. "Of course I don't trust him."

"Good."

Silence falls between us, but it doesn't feel awkward. We are too close now. I tore Purgatory apart looking for him, and he took a fatal beating from me-- for me. “Is it weird for you?” I ask him.

“Weird?” He squints and tilts his head.

“I’m about ten sizes smaller than I used to be and I’m a freakin girl all of a sudden. That’s not weird for you?”

“Do you think that changes anything?” He asks, and I can see something in his eyes I've seen before-- many times-- but chose to ignore. “Yes, you look different on the outside, but you are Dean Winchester on the inside.”

“I need to tell you something,” I blurt unsure if this is the right move. What if he hates me once he knows the truth?

“I’ll never hate you, Dean,” he answers to my thoughts.

“Don’t do that,” I scold him. “That’s cheating and you know it!”

He shifts closer. “I’m sorry, Dean. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

I bite my bottom lip then stop. I need to quit that before it becomes a habit. “It’s about earlier this year when I was turned into a demon,” I say, “Don’t be mad, okay? I need to get this off my chest because Sam brought it up, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I won’t be mad,” he vows.

“I did a lot of crazy shit. You know that. I tried to kill my brother. I was a mess. I wasn't me. We both know I wasn't me,” I start, unsure if this is going to help or hurt my cause.

“Yes, Dean. I know that.”

“It was a mistake . . .” I'm starting to panic. My heart beat is picking up in speed, and I'm sweating under my shirt.

Cas presses his hand to my cheek. It's warm on my skin. “Dean, I’m worried now, please tell me.” 

I clutch his wrist and look at him, really look. I stare as though worried this will be the last time I see him, and just like that-- like a bat to the back of the head-- I'm struck with one immovable realization. I can't lose him. I lean closer. “I should've told you everything all at once, but I'm not proud of this. I just . . . I figured . . ."

"Dean . . ."

"I was so stupid," I gasp, "and I'm sorry. I'm saying it now just in case . . ."

He cuts me off with a kiss I don't see coming until his mouth is on mine and my hands clutch at his shoulders. He separates the kiss to exhale, and a laugh erupts out of me. "What's so funny?" he grits out, smiling.

"I always thought you didn't need to breathe."

He leans forward. "I didn't."

I smile back. "I agreed to threesomes with Crowley.” I don't even know what made me spill the beans, but there they are, all over the goddamn floor. What the hell was I thinking? I’m not sure what to make of Cas’ face right then, but all I know is I can’t read it. “Cas?”

He clears his throat and settles back from me. “I’m trying to wrap my brain around this, Dean.”

“The concept or . . .”

“I understand the concept.” His eyes find mine, but they're a lot colder than before the confession.

“I was a demon, Cas!”

He lowers his gaze. “I know.”

“You’re not looking at me, Cas.”

“I know.”

“I just need to know we’re good,” I say, desperate to hear the words, desperate for him to look at me. “Just tell me we’re good.”

“I need to go.” He stands, and the bottom falls out of my stomach. “I need to process this.”

“Cas!”

He’s gone, the rustle of his wings the last sound I hear. He didn’t say we’re good. I lie back down on my pillows and roll over onto my side. If I get any sleep tonight, it will be a fucking miracle.


	5. Rowena's Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!!

I check for the third time that night to see if Cas has returned, if he’s forgiven me. I just want him to say he can move past this. But what if he can’t? I need my best friend. I need him. This is too much and he’s the only one who can see me—really see me. I hug my pillows and close my eyes, but sleep never comes. I’m not even going to get my four hours tonight. I roll onto my back and stare blankly at the ceiling, my voice a hollow whisper. “Cas, you got your ears on? I need you to move past this, okay? Please. Hate me all you want when this bull shit is over, but not now. I need you now.”

I don’t know how long it’s been since I prayed to Cas, but I bolt upright to a knock on the door. “Cas?”

The door opens. Sam stands there, his frame, blocking out the light of the hallway. “Dean?”

I draw my knees to my chest and stare blearily up at him. “Any news?” I ask.

“Nothing progressive,” Sam replies. “You okay?”

“I’m not possessing the mark anymore, so that’s a plus,” I tell him with a shrug, “Everything else kind of sucks, though.”

“I get that.” Sam approaches my bed to sit at the foot of it, his eyes on me. “I can put away all your clothes,” he offers, gesturing down to the pile I hadn’t even touched since my shower. 

“Can you burn them?” I ask.

Sam laughs. “We’re going to fix this, you know that, right? You’re not gonna be like this forever.”

“I told Cas,” I blurt, needing him to know. “I told him and he didn’t take it well and now he hates me.”

Sam blinks as though to get over the shock of my confession. “What—did you tell him?”

“I told him about Crowley,” I explain. “I told him everything and he got all quiet. He was so pissed, Sammy. More pissed than I've ever seen him. Then he just left.”

“Dean . . .”

“He hates me now," I groan, burying my face into my knees. "And why the hell not? Everyone hates me. I make stupid dick moves, I’m everyone’s burden, I’m a monster . . .”

“Hey, Dean, stop,” Sam demands, shifting up on my bed to grip my arms. “You know that’s not true.”

“It’s true,” I sniffle. “Cain gave me the mark because we’re both killers. I know what I am, and I know that I should have been put down a long time ago.”

Sam moves in closer to wrap one arm around my shoulders. “You can’t say shit like that when you’re so damn small,” he teases me. He tilts his head down to mine. “Seriously, dude.”

I manage a smile, but it’s watery at best. “I’m scared, Sammy,” I admit to him in a choked whisper.

“I know, man, but you just gotta trust us, alright? Crowley and Cas are working on Metatron, and I’m doing my own research on how to . . . maybe adjust your situation.”

I look at him. “Really?” I couldn’t be more hopeful if I tried. "How?"

"Magic. I don't have it all worked out, yet, but I'm smart enough to figure it out."

"Yeah you are," I smile at him. 

“Dean,” he says, resting his free hand on my knee. “Cas doesn’t hate you. You made a mistake, you’re human. He knows that. He just needs to digest.”

“I was a demon,” I correct him. 

“Right.”

“It’s almost creepy how big you are,” I comment.

He laughs. “I’ve never had a sister before. Might be interesting.”

“You don’t have a sister, you have a big brother, and trust me when I get me back, I might have to kick your ass just for saying that.” Sam laughs again, but he hasn’t moved away from me. “Sam?” I call to him.

“Hmm?”

“You have your own room, right?”

“Mmm.”

“You wanna maybe go to it?”

“But you’re so soft and warm and cuddly,” he murmurs. I punch him hard in the arm and he lets out a groan of laughter. “Geez, Dean!”

“Call me that again, you’ll have no teeth,” I promise him. 

He sits up away from me. “I honestly can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but what you need to remember is that you’re not alone in this, Dean. No matter what happens, alright?”

“Thanks, man,” I whisper. I thump his shoulder. “You’re a good brother.”

“If you need to talk . . .”

“I know,” I cut in. 

He gets up from my bed and shoots me a wave before exiting. I lie back down, but when I close my eyes, my heart accelerates to the point where I have to pull myself back up to catch my breath. Anything could happen to me. Who knows? Rowena might just be waiting for the right time to strike. This could be a ruse to kill me—slowly and painfully, make me suffer by putting me in the ground looking like someone else. I’m suddenly terrified of being alone and I scramble out of the bed to race down the hall. Sam won’t mind if I just stay in his room for tonight. I push open his door. He isn’t asleep. He’s sitting upright with his laptop across his knees, his focus concentrated on the screen as he reads the text quickly. 

“Hey,” I greet, knocking on the door.

He looks up. “Dean, you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m freaking out,” I admit to him, walking in to approach the foot of his bed. “This situation is so fucked up and I just . . . I think I’m getting paranoid.”

“Do you wanna talk?”

“No, man, I wanna sleep, but it’s like this stupid body is refusing to let me.”

Sam moves over, patting the empty side of the bed. I crawl up onto it and rest my head on the pillows. Sam reaches over and pulls the blanket to my shoulder. “Thanks, Sammy,” I yawn.

“Hey, you’d do it for me were the situation reversed.”

“Damn right I would,” I say, closing my eyes. 

Sam pats my shoulder. I don’t even know why it’s enough, but it is and I manage to slip into sleep. 

***

A week passes—without Cas dropping by even once. He reports to Sam on his and Crowley’s progress with Metatron, and Sam tells me. So far, he has given them nothing we can use. I go to the shooting range to pass the time, and I drink—a lot. I’m drunk more than I’m sober. I’m also losing hope in a cure.

Sam is working nonstop to try and find something to change me back, but the spell Rowena cast is heavy duty magic that can’t be reversed unless by human sacrifice. Shocker. All week, I’ve been sleeping in Sam’s room, the paranoia growing worse since the other shoe hasn’t yet dropped. 

I wake to the familiar flutter of wings near my head. “Cas?” 

“Hello Dean.”

I sit upright and swing my legs to the flat area rug. “Can we talk?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I get out of the bed and leave Sam’s room as quietly as possible. I close the door softly behind Cas. He’s looking at me, at the shirt I’m swimming in down to my bare feet. “It’s an adjustment,” I tell him.

He pulls his gaze back up, but there’s something different about it, something I’m not sure I like. “Why are you in Sam’s room?”

“Paranoia,” I explain, “Had a bit of a scare because of the whole other shoe thing.” Cas nods, his expression unchanging. I decide to pick up the conversation. “Look, I get it that you’re pissed, okay? You’re not exactly best buddies with Crowley and then learning that your best friend . . .”

“It’s none of my business, Dean,” Cas says, his voice flat and toneless.

“Demon or not, it was a dick move on my part.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he puts in, straightening. “You need me to get past it and I’m past it. We don’t have to talk about it anymore . . .”

“I don’t think you’re past it.”

“I’m past it, Dean.” His voice has risen in volume. He's not yelling, but he is louder than I'm used to. 

“If you were past it, you wouldn’t be giving me this look like you want to mentally murder me.”

Cas glares at me. “I’m not here to argue about this. I’m here to tell you that there is new business in Heaven that I must attend to after we’ve gotten past this whole situation.”

I scoff. “Now I’m a situation?”

“You know what I mean,” he groans. 

“I know what you mean,” I retort, crossing my arms, “After you’ve dealt with the situation—meaning me—you’re fucking off. You know what? Do that! Whatever! And screw you very much!” The room spins off kilter and I put my hands out to grab the guardrail. My stomach lurches. 

“Dean?”

“Sam!” I shout, “Sam, something’s wrong!” I miss the guardrail, miss it by inches and I crash. I don’t hit the floor, though. 

“Hey, Dean, can you hear me?”

I force my eyes open to see my brother’s face swim before me like a watercolor painting. “Sammy?”

“You’re okay, Dean,” Sam says, pressing a large hand to my forehead. “You’re not gonna believe this, but you’re . . . sick.”

“Sick?” I try to sit up, but the minute my head is off the pillow, the room spins and I fall back down. “I can’t be sick!”

“You have the flu,” Sam explains.

“What?”

“You’re burning up. Lucky the men of letters have a first-aid kit in this place. Found out your temperature is well above normal.”

I laugh out loud. “Are you kidding me with this? I can’t have the flu! Shit is going down and I have to be able to face it head on. I can’t do it if I’m like this.”

“It’s normal, man,” Sam tells me calmly. “You’ll just stay here and relax for a while, alright?”

“This is stupid,” I mutter. “I don’t get sick.”

“I’ve always questioned that,” Sam admits, placing a cold cloth on my forehead. “You’re not exactly the poster boy for healthy living. Seriously, it was only a matter of time before you crashed.”

I try to sleep it off, but when I wake up, I’m sweating and still spinning like I’ve jumped on the world’s worst carnival ride. Sam is worried. He has come to check on me five times already, keeping an eye on my temperature, which doesn’t seem to be going down.

I jolt to the unexpected weight next to me, and I pull myself upright to confront the intruder—my best friend. Scratch that, my former best friend, because I fucked up and he can’t get over it. 

“Dean . . .” His voice is gritty and scratchy and laced with worry. 

I collapse back down onto the pillows and close my eyes. I don’t know if doing that makes the spins better or worse, but it’s better not to see my room blur into a many-colored blob. “Is this actually the flu or is it a side-effect of the spell?” I ask.

Cas presses his palm to my cheek; it’s shaking. He is shaking. Why? “This isn’t going to be easy to hear . . .”

“Then don’t say it,” I interrupt him. “I can’t take any more bad news right now, Cas. I can’t. I just want to get better. You’re an angel, can’t you just touch my forehead and poof! I’m well? Or are you too pissed to heal me?”

“Dean, there is nothing I would not do for you. You know that.”

“Then do it,” I plead with him. “Make me better. It’s the flu, right, so just . . .”

“It’s not the flu,” he puts in, pressing one hand to my stomach, “And because it’s not the flu, we have to refrain from curing you—for now.”

I force my eyes open to see his concerned eyes waver like an image fighting bad reception. “Am I dying?” I ask, choked up, more scared than I have ever been in my entire life. I wanted to go down in a blaze of glory, fighting some revved up demon. I did not want to go down in a foreign body, lying in bed unable to move. 

“No, Dean. This was planned. She planned it.”

I shake my head so confused that I’m no longer spinning just because of the not-flu I have. “She?”

“Rowena,” Cas clarifies. “She took advantage of our desperation to save you from the mark. She—tricked us.”

“You need to stop beating around the goddamn bush and just . . .”

“You’re pregnant, Dean.”


	6. Complicated

The pause in between this dropped bomb and my reaction stretches on for miles like a road with no turnoff. 

Then I laugh. I have to, because that is hilarious. “I’m not pregnant,” I protest. “Obviously Rowena is delusional.”

“She called it a delayed reaction,” Cas says, his fingers gripping my stomach now. 

I stare at him, blinking, shaking my head in complete and utter disbelief. “This is crazy!” I laugh out loud. “I’m going to talk to her myself. She’s yanking all of us, you know that! She’s a manipulative little witch; obviously Crowley gets it from her!”

Cas’ fingers press harder into my stomach. “I can feel it, Dean. It’s there and it’s growing.”

I swat his hand away. “What the hell? It isn’t even possible! So, what? This is an immaculate conception or something?”

“The child is Crowley’s,” Cas says through gritted teeth. 

“Are you kidding me with this?” I howl, shaking my head. “That is impossible, Cas. Whatever happened while I was a demon didn’t . . .” I stare at the wall behind his head. Or maybe it did and I was too drunk to remember. It’s not like it mattered then. I was a guy then. If something did . . . 

That was a few months ago at least. 

“So what's the plan exactly?” I ask, pressing both hands to my face. 

“Rowena let us know that the child will be the most powerful child the world has ever known. He will destroy the host of Heaven and he will eliminate the king of Hell. He will be exactly the kind of child Rowena has always wanted.”

I breathe in through my nose and exhale slowly through my mouth. “And you know for a fact it’s in there?”

Cas jerks his head up and down. “Yes.”

“So do what you gotta do, Cas,” I hiss, staring up at him, “We can’t let something like that get its hooks in, so do what you gotta do.” 

“Dean . . .”

“This isn’t a debate,” I argue. “Kill it—now, and end this!

“I can’t.”

“You have to!”

“I can’t, Dean. The price is too high.”

“The price is already too high. If this child can potentially destroy everything and everyone, there is no other option here.”

Cas places a palm to my cheek. “If I kill the thing inside you, you die too. Its life and yours are bound.”

I clutch his wrist. “I’m okay with dying for a cause.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not okay with it, Dean.”

I force myself upright to grip his shoulders. “If you do this, it will be my way of redeeming myself to you,” I grit out, “I made this mess, I should be the one to clean it up. I can’t let something that evil come into the world. Do you understand?”

“I won't,” he refuses aggressively. "I know you want me to, but I won't." 

“If you do it, you’ll free us both.”

“No!”

“Please,” I beg now, my composure suddenly breaking. “I need you to do this for me.” 

He shakes his head and takes my hands from his shoulders to lower me back down. He comes down with me, pressing one hand to the side of my face. “You mean everything to me,” he admits firmly. "Just as you put Sam first, I put you first. Always."

“You want to leave,” I remind him tearfully. 

"Dean . . ."

"What am I supposed to do, Cas? It's not like I can take it back! You're pissed and you're going to leave, and I'm going to be here, dealing with whatever the hell this is!" I gesture at my stomach emphatically. 

"How did it feel?" He asks, resting his head on the pillow beside me.

I look over at him. "What? The threesomes?" I scoff. He grimaces, so I continue, "They didn't feel like anything. I was a demon. It was just . . . sex."

Cas places a hand onto my belly. "So you two didn't . . ."

"What? Share our feelings? Cuddle afterward?" I give him a sideways look. "No, Cas. It meant nothing, okay?"

Cas brings his gaze to mine. "I'm sorry," he says, his expression and voice warm and gentle.

"So am I," I admit. "I should've been honest from the jump. Now I'm in a worse mess than when I actually had the damn mark."

"We'll fix this, Dean."

"I'll fix it," I say firmly. 

"We will all fix it," Cas corrects me. I nod and moved in to kiss him. Reading my mind, he meets me in the middle, and the minute I'm able to hook my arms around his neck, I climb over him, forcing him onto his back, and attempting to deepen the kiss. I feel him resisting, and I open my eyes just as he is clipping my chin in his fingers and shifting me back over onto the pillows. “We . . . can’t . . .” he gasps.

I’ve been rejected before, but not by someone I care so much about. It actually feels like he has just driven his archangel blade straight through my chest. “I get it,” I mutter, rolling onto my side and glaring at the wall with all my mounted pistols. "I'm not even me, right?" 

“Dean . . .”

“just go, okay?” I mutter. "I'd like to be alone with my utter embarrassment."

He touches my hair and I want to slap his hand away, but I don’t. I’m craving affection right now more so than I have in my entire life. “You’ve been through so much,” he murmurs, “The last thing you need is for things to become even more complicated.”

I groan. He’s right. I hate to admit to myself but if I sleep with him, I will be adding to the list of ‘crazy shit’ that is my life right now. “Is that all it is?” I ask him, terrified of the answer, but needing to know.

I feel him slide down behind me then surround me in arms I had no idea were so strong until now. “That is all it is,” he promises in my ear, kissing my lobe.

“You’re not leaving?”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Promise?”

His hand rests on my stomach, lips in my hair as he responds. “I promise, Dean.”

I fall asleep there, the dizziness nearly gone to the realization that I will only survive this mountain of crazy with Cas here.


End file.
